CHAPTER LVII.
CONCERNING A NEW DANGER WHICH THREATENED CAPTAIN STANLEY LAKE.
The ambitious captain walked out, sniffing, white, and incensed. Therewas an air of immovable resolution in the few words which Dorcas hadspoken which rather took him by surprise. The captain was a terrorist. Heacted instinctively on the theory that any good that was to be got fromhuman beings was to be extracted from their fears. He had so operated onMark Wylder; and so sought to coerce his sister Rachel. He had hopes,too, of ultimately catching the good attorney napping, and leading himtoo, bound and docile, into his ergastulum, although he was himself justnow in jeopardy from that quarter. James Dutton, too. Sooner or later hewould get Master Jim into a fix, and hold him also spell-bound in thesame sort of nightmare.
It was not from malice. The worthy attorney had much more of that leaventhan he. Stanley Lake did not care to smash any man, except such as stoodin his way. He had a mercantile genius, and never exercised his craft,violence and ferocity, on men or objects, when no advantage wasobtainable by so doing. When, however, fortune so placed them that one orother must go to the wall, Captain Stanley Lake was awfully unscrupulous.But, having disabled, and struck him down, and won the stakes, he wouldhave given what remained of him his cold, white hand to shake, or sippedclaret with him at his own table, and told him stories, and entertainedhim with sly, sarcastic sallies, and thought how he could make use of himin an amicable way.
But Stanley Lake's cold, commercial genius, his craft and egotism, werefrustrated occasionally by his temper, which, I am afraid, with all itsexternal varnish, was of the sort which is styled diabolical. People saidalso, what is true of most terrorists, that he was himself quite capableof being frightened; and also, that he lied with too fertile an audacity:and, like a man with too many bills afloat, forgot his endorsementsoccasionally, and did not recognise his own acceptances when presentedafter an interval. Such were some of this dangerous fellow's weak points.But on the whole it was by no means a safe thing to cross his path; andfew who did so came off altogether scathless.
He pursued his way with a vague feeling of danger and rage, havingencountered an opposition of so much more alarming a character than hehad anticipated, and found his wife not only competent _ferre aspectum_to endure his maniacal glare and scowl, but serenely to defy his violenceand his wrath. He had abundance of matter for thought and perturbation,and felt himself, when the images of Larcom, Larkin, and Jim Duttoncrossed the retina of his memory, some thrill of the fear which 'hathtorment'--the fear of a terrible coercion which he liked so well topractise in the case of others.
In this mood he paced, without minding in what direction he went, underthose great rows of timber which over-arch the pathway leading towardRedman's Dell--the path that he and Mark Wylder had trod in that mistymoonlight walk on which I had seen them set out together.
Before he had walked five minutes in this direction, he was encounteredby a little girl in a cloak, who stopped and dropped a courtesy. Thecaptain stopped also, and looked at her with a stare which, I suppose,had something forbidding in it, for the child was frightened. But thewild and menacing look was unconscious, and only the reflection of thedark speculations and passions which were tumbling and breaking in hissoul.
'Well, child,' said he, gently, 'I think I know your face, but I forgetyour name.'
'Little Margery, please Sir, from Miss Lake at Redman's Farm,' shereplied with a courtesy.
'Oh! to be sure, yes. And how is Miss Rachel?'
'Very bad with a headache, please, Sir.'
'Is she at home?'
'Yes, Sir, please.'
'Any message?'
'Yes, Sir, please--a note for you, Sir;' and she produced a note, rather,indeed, a letter.
'She desired me, Sir, please, to give it into your own hand, if I could,and not to leave it, please, Sir, unless you were at home when Ireached.'
He read the direction, and dropped it unopened into the pocket of hisshooting coat. The peevish glance with which he eyed it betrayed apresentiment of something unpleasant.
'Any answer required?'
'No, Sir, please--only to leave it.'
'And Miss Lake is quite well?'
'No, Sir, please--a bad headache to-day.'
'Oh! I'm very sorry, indeed. Tell her so. She is at home, is she?'
'Yes, Sir.'
'Very well; that's all. Say I am very sorry to hear she is suffering; andif I can find time, I hope to see her to-day; and remember to say I havenot read her letter, but if I find it requires an answer, it shall haveone.'
He looked round like a man newly awakened, and up among the great boughsand interlacing foliage of the noble trees, and the child made him twocourtesies, and departed towards Redman's Farm.
Lake sauntered back slowly toward the Hall. On his way, a rustic seatunder the shadow invited him, and he sat down, drawing Rachel's letterfrom his pocket.
What a genius they have for teasing! How women do contrive to waste ourtime and patience over nonsense! How ingeniously perverse their whimsiesare! I do believe Beelzebub employs them still, as he did in Eden, forthe special plague of us, poor devils. Here's a lecture or an exhortationfrom Miss Radie, and a quantity of infinitely absurd advice, all which Iam to read and inwardly digest, and discuss with her whenever shepleases. I've a great mind to burn it quietly.'
But he applied his match, instead, to his cigar; and having got it welllighted, he leaned back, and broke the seal, and read this letter, which,I suspect, notwithstanding his preliminary thoughts, he fancied mightcontain matter of more practical import:--
'I write to you, my beloved and only brother, Stanley, in an alteredstate of mind, and with clearer views of duty than, I think, I have everhad before.'
'Just as I conjectured,' muttered Stanley, with a bitter smile, as heshook the ashes off the top of his cigar--'a woman's homily.'
He read on, and a livid frown gradually contracted his forehead as he didso.
'I do not know, Stanley, what your feelings may be. Mine have been thesame ever since that night in which I was taken into a confidence sodreadful. The circumstances are fearful; but far more dreadful to me, themystery in which I have lived ever since. I sometimes think I have onlymyself to blame. But you know, my poor brother, why I consented, and withwhat agony. Ever since, I have lived in terror, and worse, indegradation. I did not know, until it was too late, how great was myguilt. Heaven knows, when I consented to that journey, I did notcomprehend its full purpose, though I knew enough to have warned me of mydanger, and undertook it in great fear and anguish of mind. I can nevercease to mourn over my madness. Oh! Stanley, you do not know what it isto feel, as I do, the shame and treachery of my situation; to try toanswer the smiles of those who, at least, once loved me, and to taketheir hands; to kiss Dorcas and good Dolly; and feel that all the time Iam a vile impostor, stained incredibly, from whom, if they knew me, theywould turn in horror and disgust. Now, Stanley, I can bear anything butthis baseness--anything but the life-long practice of perfidy--that, Iwill not and cannot endure. _Dorcas must know the truth._ That there is asecret jealously guarded from her, she does know--no woman could fail toperceive that; and there are few, Stanley, who would not prefer thecertainty of the worst, to the anguish of such relations of mystery andreserve with a _husband_. She is clever, she is generous, and has manynoble qualities. She will see what is right, and do it. Me she may hate,and must despise; but that were to me more endurable than friendshipgained on false pretences. I repeat, therefore, Stanley, that _Dorcasmust know the whole truth_. Do not suppose, my poor brother, that I writefrom impulse--I have deeply thought on the subject.'
'_Deeply_,' repeated Stanley, with a sneer.
'And the more I reflect, the more am I convinced--if _you_ will not tellher, Stanley, that _I_ must. But it will be wiser and better, terrible asit may be, that the revelation should come from _you_, whom she has madeher husband. The dreadful confidence would be more terrible from anyother. Be courageous then, Stanley; y
ou will be happier when you havedisclosed the truth, and released, at all events, one of your victims.
'Your sorrowful and only sister,
'RACHEL.'
On finishing the letter, Stanley rose quickly to his feet. He had becomegradually so absorbed in reading it, that he laid his cigar unconsciouslybeside him, and suffered it to go out. With downcast look, and an angrycontortion, he tore the sheets of note-paper across, and was on the pointof reducing them to a thousand little snow flakes, and giving them to thewind, when, on second thoughts, he crumpled them together, and thrustthem into his breast pocket.
His excitement was too intense for foul terms, or even blasphemy. Withthe edge of his nether lip nipped in his teeth, and his clenched hands inhis pockets, he walked through the forest trees to the park, and in hissolitudes hurried onward as if his life depended on his speed. Graduallyhe recovered his self-possession. He sat down under the shade of a knotof beech trees, overlooking that ill-omened tarn, which we have oftenmentioned, upon a lichen-stained rock, his chin resting on his clenchedhand, his elbow on his knee, and the heel of his other foot stamping outbits of the short, green sod.
'That d--d girl deserves to be shot for her treachery,' was the firstsentence that broke from his white lips.
It certainly was an amazing outrage upon his self-esteem, that the secretwhich was the weapon of terror by which he meant to rule his sisterRachel, should, by her slender hand, be taken so easily from his grasp,and lifted to crush him.
The captain's plans were not working by any means so smoothly as he hadexpected. That sudden stab from Jos. Larkin, whom he always despised, andnow hated--whom he believed to be a fifth-rate, pluckless rogue, withoutaudacity, without invention; whom he was on the point of tripping up,that he should have turned short and garotted the gallant captain, was aprovoking turn of fortune.
That when a dire necessity subjugated his will, his contempt, his rage,and he inwardly decided that the attorney's extortion must be submittedto, his wife--whom he never made any account of in the transaction, whomhe reckoned carelessly on turning about as he pleased, by a fewcompliments and cajoleries--should have started up, cold and inflexibleas marble, in his path, to forbid the payment of the black mail, andexpose him to the unascertained and formidable consequences of Dutton'sstory, and the disappointed attorney's vengeance--was another stroke ofluck which took him altogether by surprise.
And to crown all, Miss Radie had grown tired of keeping her own secret,and must needs bring to light the buried disgraces which all concernedwere equally interested in hiding away for ever.
Stanley Lake's position, if all were known, was at this moment formidableenough. But he had been fifty times over, during his brief career, inscrapes of a very menacing kind; once or twice, indeed, of the mostalarming nature. His temper, his craft, his impetus, were always drivinghim into projects and situations more or less critical. Sometimes he won,sometimes he failed; but his audacious energy hitherto had extricatedhim. The difficulties of his present situation were, however, appalling,and almost daunted his semi-diabolical energies.
From Rachel to Dorcas, from Dorcas to the attorney, and from him toDutton, and back again, he rambled in the infernal litany he mutteredover the inauspicious tarn, among the enclosing banks and undulations,and solitary and lonely woods.
'Lake Avernus,' said a hollow voice behind him, and a long grisly handwas laid on his shoulder.
A cold breath of horror crept from his brain to his heel, as he turnedabout and saw the large, blanched features and glassy eyes of Uncle Lornebent over him.
'Oh, Lake Avernus, is it?' said Lake, with an angry sneer, and raisinghis hat with a mock reverence.
'Ay! it is the window of hell, and the spirits in prison come up to seethe light of it. Did you see him looking up?' said Uncle Lorne, with hispallid smile.
'Oh! of course--Napoleon Bonaparte leaning on old Dr. Simcock's arm,'answered Lake.
It was odd, in the sort of ghastly banter in which he played off this oldman, how much hatred was perceptible.
'No--not he. It is Mark Wylder,' said Uncle Lorne; 'his face comes uplike a white fish within a fathom of the top--it makes me laugh. That'sthe way they keep holiday. Can you tell by the sky when it is holiday inhell? _I_ can.'
And he laughed, and rubbed his long fingers together softly.
'Look! ha! ha!--Look! ha! ha! ha!--_Look!_' he resumed pointing with hiscadaverous forefinger towards the middle of the pool.
'I told you this morning it was a holiday,' and he laughed very quietlyto himself.
'Look how his nostrils go like a fish's gills. It is a funny way for agentleman, and _he's_ a gentleman. Every fool knows the Wylders aregentlemen--all gentlemen in misfortune. He has a brother that is walkingabout in his coffin. Mark has no coffin; it is all marble steps; and awicked seraph received him, and blessed him till his hair stood up. Letme whisper you.'
'No, not just at this moment, please,' said Lake, drawing away,disgusted, from the maniacal leer and titter of the gigantic old man.
'Aye, aye--another time--some night there's aurora borealis in the sky.You know this goes under ground all the way to Vallambrosa?'
'Thank you; I was not aware: that's very convenient. Had you not bettergo down and speak to your friend in the water?'
'Young man, I bless you for remembering,' said Uncle Lorne, solemnly.'What was Mark Wylder's religion, that I may speak to him comfortably?'
'An Anabaptist, I conjecture, from his present situation,' replied Lake.
'No, that's in the lake of fire, where the wicked seraphim and cherubimbaptise, and anabaptise, and hold them under, with a great stone laidacross their breasts. I only know two of their clergy--the African vicar,quite a gentleman, and speaks through his nose; and the archbishop withwings; his face is so burnt, he's all eyes and mouth, and on one hand hasonly one finger, and he tickles me with it till I almost give up theghost. The ghost of Miss Baily is a lie, he said, by my soul; and helikes you--he loves you. Shall I write it all in a book, and give it you?I meet Mark Wylder in three places sometimes. Don't move, till I go down;he's as easily frightened as a fish.'
And Uncle Lorne crept down the bank, tacking, and dodging, and all thetime laughing softly to himself; and sometimes winking with a horrid,wily grimace at Stanley, who fervently wished him at the bottom of thetarn.
'I say,' said Stanley, addressing the keeper, whom by a beck he hadbrought to his side, 'you don't allow him, surely, to go alone now?'
'No, Sir--since your order, Sir,' said the stern, reserved official.
'Nor to come into any place but this--the park, I mean?'
'No, Sir.'
'And do you mind, try and get him home always before nightfall. It iseasy to frighten him. Find out what frightens him, and do it or say it.It is dangerous, don't you see? and he might break his d--d neck any timeamong those rocks and gullies, or get away altogether from you in thedark.'
So the keeper, at the water's brink, joined Uncle Lorne, who was talking,after his fashion, into the dark pool. And Stanley Lake--a general indifficulties--retraced his steps toward the park gate through which hehad come, ruminating on his situation and resources.
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